


Reclamation

by KestrelShrike



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Cerberus - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Hair Dye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 04:22:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13873020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KestrelShrike/pseuds/KestrelShrike
Summary: Shepard reclaims an aspect of our identity from Cerberus.





	Reclamation

Cerberus owned every facet of Shepard’s life, from the ship underneath her feet to the blood that pumped through her veins. There wasn’t a single place she could turn to escape this; at night, the sound of the engines were a constant reminder that the Normandy was a gift from them, and during the day she was constantly reminded that she had been dead. 

“Your scars aren’t healing well,” Chakwas had said earlier that day, her face creased into a frown. “You need to reduce your stress levels.” 

Shepard liked Chakwas, she truly did, but her temper was frayed, nerves shot to their last axion. “Is that your medical opinion, or is that Cerberus wanting to make sure I’m still presentable?” she had snapped, instantly regretting it, rubbing her palm down her face. “I’m sorry, doc. Long days.” But she had seen the way Chakwas took a step back, the way her posture had become that much more rigid. 

Now she lay in bed next to Garrus, the sound of his soft breaths slowly settling into sleep, his body warm against hers. He, at least, was free of Cerberus ties, though Garrus was still technically on their payroll. With every deposit received, Shepard hid some away in a secret account under another name filed at a volus bank that assured all their clients that secrecy was of the utmost importance. There wasn’t much in it yet, but maybe one day it would be enough for freedom. 

Restlessness plagued her. It would have been nice to simply lay with Garrus and feel safe. Their relationship was still new and exciting; this was only the second night he had actually spent in her cabin, and it had taken them both a while to find a position that was comfortable for both human and turian physiology. If this was going to be a thing, Shepard was going to have to get him some special pillows. Something else for the checklist in her head, plans for a future where she didn’t have to feel so damn guilty for falling for a friend. There was no way Cerberus would approve of this, if they found out. When they found out. Romance was a distraction. 

Shit. Sleep wasn’t going to happen. Carefully extracting herself from Garrus’ arms, unraveling a strand of red hair from one of his talons, Shepard sat on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor. Both her knees were twitching, a leftover reminder that Cerberus hadn’t even completed their work when she had been woken. They had never hurt before she died, but death would do that to you. Death and reconstruction. 

Shepard’s first few steps after laying down or sitting for too long were always shaky. It was like her body had to remember how it all connected, as if blood and bone and tendons and sinews were separate entities that occupied their own, discrete space, rather than forming a connected network. 

Winding through the familiar space (bigger than the first Normandy’s cabin, more luxurious) and the darkness, she reached the bathroom, making sure the door was closed before flicking on the light. She hadn’t had her own, private space like this before. It was… considerate of Cerberus, though she didn’t like to apply that word to them. Anything to keep her working hard was a better way to put it. 

As always, she looked at her reflection. Her eyes were the same blue they had been before the accident, her skin as space-washed and pale. She had never tanned easily, but ever since joining the Alliance, she had spent comparatively little time actually planetside, and on those occasions, she was usually in full armor. Hair as brilliantly red as it had always been. Red the Red, the gang had called her when she was a kid. 

The scars were new. They were red and angry, though Shepard imagined they hurt slightly less when she made good decisions. Too bad that was another thing she was crap at. 

When she examined them more closely, the scars didn’t look… natural. That was one word for it. It was almost as if there was something faintly mechanical just below the raised, angry flesh. The closer Shepard loomed to the mirror, the more she thought she saw things moving in there, nanobots repairing the fleshweave, or at least trying to. 

With a start, she tore herself away from the mirror, smashing her hand against the sink. She was so damn tired of looking at her own face and seeing Cerberus branded on there. Those scars said they owned her and they would always own her, if they had their way. Without them, she couldn’t recover fully, and she wasn’t strong enough to fight the Reapers and deal with crippling pain. She wasn’t a big enough person. 

The medicine cabinet was biometrically coded to her iris, opening softly to reveal what little it held within. Some pain pills, a few things meant to boost her immune system, and a special item she had bought on a whim when they had last docked at the Citadel, shoving it into a bag and then sneaking it onto the ship, feeling faintly ashamed. Hair dye. 

Her hair had never been touched. First it had been because she couldn’t afford it; what would a street kid who could barely feed herself do with a bottle of dye? You couldn’t eat it. Then she had joined the Alliance, and how she looked was strictly regimented. Hair had to be neat and natural, and she hadn’t had much room for vanity. Never had much use for it anyway. Shepard and red hair seemed to go hand in hand. 

The bottle had a smiling asari on it, an odd choice given that asari lacked hair. “Dye that lightens and will stay for six months!” it proudly proclaimed. Six months would give her enough time to settle into the change. She needed this. She needed something, anything, that said that Cerberus didn’t own her completely, that was some part of her body that she had chosen, that they hadn’t painstakingly put back together. 

Lather and leave the dye in. She put on music, low enough that it wouldn’t wake Garrus, and closed her eyes. Shepard had never listened to much music before, but now she fell into it, letting the rise and fall dictate each breath.   
She jolted awake, the alarm built into the bottle letting her know it was time to rinse. She didn’t dare look at herself yet, not until she had stepped into the shower and let soft, rose-tinted water wash down the drain, leaving trailing vines up and down her bare flesh. Now it was time to take it all in. 

Clearing fog, she stared. It didn’t look like her. Her brows were still dark and red, but her eyes suddenly seemed that much more blue, and the strands that clung to her face, covering the scars, were a soft, pastel pink that looked like it belonged on someone else. At the very top of her head, the roots were faintly blonde- this wasn’t her, not her at all. 

Shepard’s smile stretched across her face. It was time to show Garrus. 

He was half-awake when she slipped back in, propping himself up on one elbow. “Shepard?” he asked, voice groggy, rubbing at his eyes and then slipping on his visor as if that would help him better understand what stood before him. “You look… different.” He sat up all the way, hauling himself out of bed and padding over to her, taking a wet strand of hair between two fingers and gently spinning it until it fragmented into individual strands. “I didn’t know humans could change hair color.” 

Wrapping her arms around him, Shepard laughed. “Not naturally. Do you like it?” 

“It’s colorful,” Garrus replied, hedging his bets, burying his face in her hair as he liked to do. “Smells nice. Very floral.” 

Whether or not Garrus approved didn’t matter much to Shepard, at the end of the day. With this, she had some of her freedom back. Cerberus didn’t have to own all of her. She would take every bit of herself back, one piece at a time.


End file.
